Drowning
by MrsMCrieff
Summary: Molly is at risk, will Sherlock save her and will he learn something along the way. Rated T for angst and threat to life.


**So when this snippet of a story first came to me I wasn't sure whether it was going to be part of a larger fic or not but the rest of the fic never came to me so this was languishing in my WIPs. Skip forward a year and** **I wanted to post something to let you know why I had suddenly disappeared and why I hadn't started posting my Ripper fic so I decided to turn this into a one shot and post with an explanation. It's quite simple really...I'm on holiday and about to go to France for a couple of weeks and rather than start posting a long fic and have you have to wait for chapters I've decided to start posting when I get back. Hope that makes sense.**

 **Anyway, that means you get to enjoy this little offering which for once is smut free...I know, not like me to not write smut but I think you'll agree it wasn't necessary. Enjoy!**

 **Drowning**

The boat was going so fast that when Molly hit the water it felt as though she had landed on concrete. The impact took her breath away and the immediate shock of the cold water just made everything worse. She gasped in shock and dank, fetid water filled her mouth making her struggle but it was no good, her clothes, heavy with water, were starting to drag her down and under.

She tried to remember what she had ever heard about being in cold water, it was something about not thrashing around, getting your bearings first and letting your body acclimatise but that was easier said than done as the icy cold water closed up over your head.

She wanted to scream and shout, to just catch her breath but she hadn't had a chance and now she had no air, no reserves just rank water in her lungs making her want to choke and cough.

She knew Sherlock had been following but he may not have seen her go into the water and even if he had he would be focused on catching her assailant; after all he was wanted for so much more than kidnapping her. He'd no doubt make the assumption that she could fend for herself, that she could swim, but it had overwhelmed her before she'd even had a chance.

Thinking about Sherlock made her kick her feet, trying desperately to get back above the surface. She also fumbled with the zip of her coat, if she could get it off she might not feel so heavy and so tired.

She didn't know if the blackness in her vision was the water or her losing consciousness but if she did that she was as good as dead and she didn't want to die, not yet, not with so much life ahead of her and not like this, lost in some watery grave.

Images of drowned bodies passed before her eyes, the bloating, the loose, rotted skin damaged and eaten by anything that came across it.

She gave a last futile kick, her lungs burning with the effort to not take a breath but it was no good, she was going to die. A final memory passed through her mind and in better times she would have smiled. It was the image of Sherlock bending towards her to kiss her cheek. If that was going to be her last thought at least it was of him, the man she loved.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

Sherlock's sole focus was getting Molly back. When Moran had pointed the gun at her head his whole world had narrowed down to one simple goal, keep Molly alive. It took him right back to that room with Eurus forcing him to call Molly. He had tried to block out his memories, to delete them and when that failed to store them away where he wouldn't have to see them but one look at the terror on Molly's face and he was right back there. In that room, feeling so helpless and scared. It was a feeling he had never, ever wanted to experience again and yet here he was.

He blamed Lestrade, he had warned him not to bring too many clod-hopping officers but he blamed himself more for Molly being there. She had only been there because of him and now she might die and it would all be his fault.

They'd given chase, they were never not going to. Lestrade had thankfully made sure that the Thames Police were on standby and so even as Moran had bundled Molly at gunpoint onto his boat they had been radioing through to make sure there was transport waiting for them on the river.

However, the point at which he had seen Moran grab Molly and throw her overboard was honestly one of the worst moments of his life.

He had two, maybe three seconds to make his decision. His mind immediately calculated the temperature of the water, the weight of Molly's clothes, the chances of her being able to get herself to safety. At the same time he acknowledged that this was his best chance of finally catching Moran. If he lost him now it would be years before they had another chance….but then Moran knew that and that was why he'd thrown Molly in…to distract and delay them.

There was no choice to make and he was already removing his coat and jacket and pushing his shoes off his feet as he called across to Lestrade to have the boat brought around. All the while his eyes didn't deviate from the place where Molly had entered the water. He pointed towards it directing them to it.

'Come on Molly, come on.'

He strained his eyes trying to see any sign of her but there was nothing and as soon as the boat circled close enough he climbed onto the side, ignoring the shouts from the officers behind him, and dove in.

He had already anticipated the coldness of the water but the shock of it still threatened to take his senses from him. It took all of his years of training and experience to control his reactions and channel his energy into swimming down into the icy, black depths, wishing he could see something, anything.

Within a minute his muscles were straining and his lungs burning and he knew he was going to have to swim back up and take another breath but he didn't want to. Molly's chances were reducing with every second that passed as were his chances of finding her.

Just as he thought he couldn't keep going his fingers brushed against something. He kicked harder and his hand grappled to get a hold. The wool stretched in his grasp but he pulled and finally was able to get hold of what he deduced was her arm. It was enough and he gripped her tightly not caring about bruising her as he powered upwards desperate to get them both to some air.

The feeling as he broke the surface was pure relief as he took in a lungful of chilly, London air…coughing and gasping as his vision started to clear. He had pulled Molly up above the water as well and he looked around desperately for the boat, happy to see it a mere seventeen metres away. Lestrade was already urging him on, his arms outstretched and ready to take Molly from him.

His body was protesting and his muscles aching with fatigue and cold as he lay on his back with Molly lying face up on his chest as he tried to keep her above the waves. He kicked his way towards the boat and found himself praying, for the first time he could remember, for her to be alright but he couldn't ignore the fact that she was a dead weight in his arms.

'That's it Sherlock, you're almost here, just a bit…got her.'

He helped Lestrade and his companions as much as he could but as Molly was hauled onto the boat he found himself clinging to the rope hanging over the side with no energy to pull himself up. His emotions seemed to sap every ounce of strength from his muscles and realised he was shaking and he wasn't sure whether it was the cold or the fear of what he would find when he climbed back aboard the boat.

'Hey, are you OK? Give me your hand and I'll help you up.'

He opened his eyes and looked up to see an eager young officer looking down at him holding out his hand.

A few moments later and he slithered onto the deck of the boat to the sounds of Lestrade giving Molly mouth to mouth and pumping her chest. Instructions were being shouted, ambulances called but the only thing Sherlock could focus on as he crawled towards her was Molly's lifeless face. She looked so pale, so white...was it possible to be that pale and still alive?

He took hold of her hand and held it between his palms trying to warm it even though he had no heat himself. He barely even noticed as the man who'd pulled him aboard wrapped a foil blanket around him.

'Come on Molly...please...just don't die. I...I...can't live without you.'

He was conscious for a moment of Lestrade looking at him but he didn't care who heard him. He didn't care about anything or anyone but Molly. He tried to swallow but there was a lump in his throat and his vision was starting to blur as his eyes filled with tears...

Without warning her body spasmed and she coughed, retching up some water and spitting it out on the deck as she turned away from Greg and towards Sherlock.

He heard the DI letting out a low 'thank god' and calling for blankets but his focus was on Molly as she winced in pain and squeezed her eyes shut before blinking slowly.

'It's OK Molly I'm here...you're safe.'

She tried to say his name but it was more of a croak and she coughed violently a second time, vomiting up more water. She was alive though and that was all that mattered to him.

As the spasms of her body receded he gently pulled her up into his arms as he leant back against the side of the boat; helping the crew as they wrapped more blankets around them both.

She rolled up onto her side against his chest and he felt her sobbing as she clutched at his shirt. It was as though she couldn't quite get close enough to him and he knew how she felt. His whole body was curled around her holding her as close as he could. He brushed her hair from her face and the palm of his hand cupped her cold cheek as he thanked whatever gods there were that she was alive.

Her voice was rough and pained as she spoke to him but her words cut him more than he expected. 'I...I wasn't sure you'd come for me.'

How could he have let her think that she wasn't the most important person in his life? That she didn't already have his whole heart...a heart that would have been worthless in his chest had she not made it. All those years of denying his feelings, of trying to be unemotional, seemed stupid and a waste of his time and energy. He had lost that fight before it had even begun.

'I will always come for you Molly, you are my whole world...my everything. I meant it when I said I couldn't live without you and I meant it when I said in that phone call that I loved you...I'm just sorry that I never made that clear. Can you...will you ever forgive me?'

He felt her starting to still in his arms, the shaking subsiding and she pushed away from him just enough that she could lift her face to his, their eyes locking together. He saw the doubt there; it was written all over her face. It was a doubt that he never wanted to see again.

'I'm drowning Molly...drowning in my love for you and only you can save me...Molly...please...'

His voice was barely a whisper by the end but he saw the doubt in her eyes morph into hope and then she reached up and pressed her cold lips against his own. Her kiss was unexpected and chaste but it was the best kiss he'd ever had in his whole life. Her hands moved to his neck and his jaw as she pulled him closer and then he opened his mouth to her and just like that the kiss went from innocent to passionate and he could see all the days and nights of their future spread out before him and he wanted all of it: the pain, the pleasure, the commitment and the intimacy.

They only broke apart as the boat bumped up against a jetty. Greg cleared his throat to get their attention. 'The ambulance is here...you both need to be checked out.'

He helped to get to her feet and as she was led towards the ramp to get off the boat he held out a hand to Sherlock, pulling him up.

'So, you and Molly then?'

The old part of Sherlock wanted to bridle at being paired off with someone but it was countered by a glow of pride that suddenly blossomed in this chest.

'Yes, me and Molly, do you have a problem with that?'

Greg smiled. 'No, God not at all. It's about time you recognised your feelings for her. Really though...drowning in your love for her...could you get any more cliched.' He let out a laugh and Sherlock felt his hackles rise. He was about to retaliate with some cutting barb about the DI's ex-wife but just at that point Molly said his name and his attention immediately shifted.

She looked small and frail between the two paramedics who were helping her into the back of the waiting ambulance and he felt an unutterable urge to protect her. That feeling grew in his chest as she held her hand out to him and he found himself unable to do anything other than move forward and reach for her. Strangely he felt as though he was the one that had been submerged and that she was saving him and the moment their hands linked together he knew, without any doubt, that he never wanted to be parted from her again.

 **A bit too sappy or just right? How about you decide and let me know. I'll be back towards the end of August with my new fic so until then take care and enjoy the summer xx**


End file.
